A Dance Perfect for Two
by doc100
Summary: Every man is a volume if you know how to read him... Takes place after the episode 'Touchdown'.
1. Chapter 1

**A Dance Perfect for Two** by doc

_**AN:**__ This piece was written for a challenge._

_The story takes place after the episode 'Touchdown.' Harm manages to land the C-130 on the USS Seahawk, save multiple lives, and then as a reward, is fired by the CIA when his face shows up on a newscast. Imagine the scenario in this story takes place instead of 'Back in the Saddle,' and Harm finds his way back to JAG and Mac in a slightly different manner._

_A fortune I submitted for the Christmas ficathon is the inspiration for this piece, along with a little Winnie-the-Pooh. What does Winnie-the-Pooh have to do with JAG you ask? Well, step inside and find out._

_In the meantime, ponder the notion, '__Every man is a volume if you know how to read him.'_

_**xxx**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf. __**The 'Poohisms,' which appear in italics**__, originate from the books written by A. A. Milne, 'Winnie-the-Pooh' and 'The House At Pooh Corner'._

_Please excuse the omissions, misspellings and errors. The mistakes are all mine. Mom had no part in the proofing of this tale._

_**xxxxxxxx XXXXX xxxxx**_

**A Dance Perfect for Two**

_"I don't see much sense in that," said Rabbit. "No," said Pooh humbly, "there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it. It's just that something happened to it along the way." – A. A. Milne, 'Winnie-the Pooh'_

**Part 1a**

The First Inklings of Dusk

October 2003

The Pacific Northwest

She carefully maneuvered the rental car along the tree-lined gravel roadway searching for the driveway amongst the overgrown vegetation. She'd almost missed the turn-off for the rustic single-lane road from the main highway a mile back. If it hadn't been for Frank's explicit directions, she would've found herself lost long ago. The rental car's GPS system was worthless in this sparsely populated area of civilization. After receiving the call last night, she'd secured emergency leave, no easy feat considering the Admiral's current belligerent mood. The first flight out that morning had landed her in Portland early afternoon, but the small commuter flight to the closest regional airport, resulted in a late car trip into the wilderness of Oregon. The initial leg of the journey had provided her with magnificent scenery allowing her to get lost amongst her tumultuous thoughts and misgivings. As the roadways became narrower, more deserted and treacherous, her entire being converged on the preordained task of arriving safely at her final destination. Just as well, she mused trying to ignore the inevitable confrontation ahead. As quickly as the troublesome thought coalesced, the narrow gravel lane opened into the wide expanse of a spectacular vista.

She rolled the car to a stop in the circular drive and peered up to the impressive house, which lie ahead. "Fishing cabin," she snorted under her breath, removing the keys from the ignition. Most folks would hardly consider the towering log structure jutting out from the mountainside a mere 'cabin'. She retrieved her bag from the trunk and started up the limestone steps to the front door. The house was constructed of huge boulders and rough-hewn logs interconnected in intricate patterns. Large windows flanked the front door providing a panoramic view straight through the house to the sparkling lake beyond.

Pausing to take a deep calming breath, she placed her palm flat against the cool surface of the paneled wood door, and peered through the glass side panels. The great room spread invitingly just past the front foyer. The large-scaled furniture was upholstered in rich brown leather, woven throw rugs adorned the beautifully aged hardwood floors in subtle masculine patterns, and a stuffed deer's head towered high on the stone fireplace. An eight-point buck, she mused, all the while shaking her head. The proffered incentive of a quiet weekend at a 'rustic fishing cabin' proved amusing in light of the elaborate surroundings more befitting of a Ralph Lauren catalog spread.

The unexpected opulence contrasted sharply against the backdrop of nature's rough canvas intensifying her sense of unease. A fine tremor of foreboding skittered down her arms like an electrical impulse from the tense muscles in her neck, weighted down by the oppressive blanket of frosty unwelcomeness. She held no delusions of a jubilant yearned-for reunion. Seventeen unanswered phone calls attested to her lack of significance in his life. But still, she'd promised. And rebuffed or not, she intended to follow through. Despite her inconsequence to him, he still held the lofty position of supreme importance in her life. Even after months of solitude and silence, her heart refused to give up. Steeling her resolve, she straightened her spine one vertebra at a time, and stoically commenced with her task.

Her breath seized in her throat, as she briskly struck the wrought iron doorknocker, and waited for a chilly response. When no answer was forthcoming, she tried the knocker once more, before jiggling the latched handle of the door. The lock held strong and ghostly silence reigned in the house. The sun continued to dip toward the horizon; its brilliant reflection masked by the towering trees. Turning back toward the drive, she noticed for the first time the absence of any other vehicles, save her own. Frustration and exhaustion warred as victors, and tears momentarily stung her eyes. She knew she should've called before venturing all this way, but opted for the element of surprise. Trish had sworn he'd be here, but the serene surroundings of the remote wilderness held no signs of life, apart from the occasion squawk of a bird or the rustling wind.

Weighing her next move, she knew there was little chance of retracing her journey before nightfall, and the terrain had proved treacherous enough by light. She shifted the leather satchel onto her right shoulder, and slowly made her way to the side of the house. If luck held out, perhaps there was a back way into this 'gentleman's' sporting retreat.

Weaving through shrubbery and willowy pines, she followed a narrow pea-gravel path around the slope, and ducked between the massive posts supporting the cedar deck above. As she passed each window, she gave the casings a gentle shake, but none budged or gave-way. As she rounded the backside of the house, she halted in wide-eyed awe gasping for breath. The view was spectacular, straight out of heaven. And in that moment, she knew why he came: Seclusion…Peace…Healing.

The summit of the hilltop gave way in a languid descent toward the beautiful icy blue water of the private lake. The landscape was dotted with lacy evergreens and soaring trees resplendent in vibrant fall foliage of orange and reds and browns. Gentle waves skimmed the surface of the water as far as the eye could see, before cresting in white foam to lap the rocky shore. And the orange fireball of the sun blazed ahead, reflecting brilliantly off the water like shimmering diamonds, as it began its plunge toward the horizon below. Her hand automatically rose to shield her eyes from the blinding radiance, even as she shivered in the chilly autumn winds dancing off the shore. The skies above moved and morphed in color and clarity, as the clouds coalesced around the sun, leaving an artist's rendition of utopia in shades of coral, purple, and gold. Even as a child camped in the isolated deserts of Arizona, she's couldn't remember a more celestial sight.

When her occasional shivers grew to shaking chills in the cold October night, she roused from her musing to seek out other signs of life. Venturing further into the wooded yard, she peered up toward the window-lined backside of the cabin. A red cedar deck ran the full length of the house along the main level. Comfortable Adirondack chairs surrounded a large table, while two rockers sat side-by-side at the edge of the railing facing the majestic view. Wandering further still, she located the staircase that rose to meet the deck above. Just as she began to ascend the stairs, she felt the emptiness of his heart call out to hers. Drawn with unfailing accuracy, she pivoted on the stair and caught sight of a pier jutting off the shore toward the waterline, almost hidden by a canopy of trees. A fishing boat bobbed off the side moored to its planking. And at the end of the pier, desolate and alone, sat another chair with its occupant slouched and nearly hidden from view.

The wind whipped and tousled his dark hair, now clearly longer and uncharacteristically wild. His slumped position and motionless demeanor screamed isolation and defeat. And her heart lurched in pain at the emotional distance it felt. She stood paralyzed for long minutes, as she quelled her fears and sought divine guidance to cope with his tenuous state. Anger, resentment, loathing, these she could deal with, it would hurt, but she was determined to overcome. But the desolate heart calling to hers, belonged to a man who had surrendered…given up…quit. That Harm she'd never encountered, and wasn't quite sure how to help. It was as if he'd lost everything of value and merit, and with it his soul. He looked like a child who'd lost his only and best friend. That revelation hit her like a ton of bricks, and in that moment she knew exactly what to do. She descended the stairs and was crossing the yard before giving her feet the conscious command.

"_You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes,"_ she muttered to herself, quoting from Pooh. All the while shaking her head with amusement, "…Mountain, here comes Mohammad."

She paused before stepping onto the pier and clutched her coat more tightly around her lithe frame. The wind off the lake was frigid and bit into her skin, chilling her to the bone. She wondered how long he'd been sitting on the pier, and fear seized her heart. The worry provided the incentive to propel her forward in her quest.

He stiffened when she got close, but continued to stare straight ahead, never once turning in her direction. "What are you doing here, Mac?" he voice was raspy and hard.

"I, um," she stammered, cleared her voice and tried again, "…I came to check on you."

"Why?"

"I heard you needed a friend," she shrugged her shoulders as she dropped her leather satchel beside his chair.

His gaze remained transfixed on the horizon, as he groused, "Again, I ask why?"

"Harm…"

"Mom called you," he interrupted, "…well, you can turn around and head right back to Webb."

Hackles raised, she glared at the back of his head, "I'm not with…"

She caught herself and inhaled deeply to stem the automatic response. He was lashing out in self-defense and hurt, and her anger would serve no purpose, except to alienate him further.

She cautiously took a few more steps, until she was situated a foot beyond his chair at the end of the pier. A quick glance behind, assured he was watching with guarded eye. The sun was now at half-mast and the sky rapidly darkening. She shivered as the temperature continued to fall, and thrust her hands into her pockets.

"Beautiful sunsets you have here," she uttered softly, "…this place is amazing. I can see why you came."

"Mac, I'm not in the mood for small talk," he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"'kay," she peered back with a disarming smile, "…but I'm gonna have to plead for hospitality. I'll never find my way back into town on those mountain roads in the dark."

He sighed heavily, but didn't respond.

She turned around to face him, smile still in place. "It's good to see ya, Harm. I've missed you…we all have."

"Yeah, I'm sure…" he mumbled with disdain.

"You know, you could've let at least one of know you were alive…"

"MAC!" he bellowed, "…I told you…"

"I'm sorry," she held out her arms in defense, "…I didn't mean… Ah, look…I, ah…"

"Why are you here?"

"Harm, I'm sorry about Beth," she reached out to touch his arm, but he jerked away from her grasp.

"I knew it!" he exploded. "I knew mom called you! Why else would you bother to come after all this time?!"

She tried to mask the hurt of his words and actions, choosing to focus instead on controlling the tremble in her voice. "I would've come sooner, if you'd returned my calls. You've been a difficult man to find."

"What? Webb not giving up info?" he sneered. "I imagined with all that pillow talk…"

"Harm!"

She turned away to study the fleeting sun. Emotions back under control, she spoke softly but with intensity, "I'm only gonna say this once. I'm not with Webb. We shared a harrowing experience, and as a result have established a mutual friendship."

He snorted in disbelief.

"It's nice to have someone to talk to," she shrugged and turned back to face him, "…at one time that used to be you."

He studied the planks at his feet and whispered softly, "Well, that choice was all yours, Mac. I'm not the one that said never."

"_I used to believe in forever . . . but forever was too good to be true,"_ the threatening tears quivered in her voice.

"What?" his eyes flew to hers.

"Nothing," she shook her head, "…it's just something from Winnie-the-Pooh. He and I have a lot in common these days."

"We're clearly speaking two different languages, and I'm too tired to keep up," he leaned forward, elbows on knees, and head propped in his hands. "Look, if you need a place to crash tonight, you can take the bedroom on the main floor. The bed's all made up and there's a bathroom attached."

"Harm, I don't wanna displace you…"

"It's okay," he waved her off, "…I can crash on the couch or head up to the loft. Not sleeping much these days, anyways," he muttered into his hand.

She walked past him, and reached down for her satchel, before pausing to stand behind his chair. Cautiously, she rested a gentle hand on his back, "Harm, if you need to talk about Beth, I'm here."

When he didn't respond after several seconds, she almost walked away. Almost. Instead, she slipped her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and caressed the icy cold skin found there. And she waited.

Finally he spoke in haunting voice, "I should've been there to save her."

When he didn't continue, she maintained the light-stroking caress, and softly encouraged. "Your mom said they let you go before her last mission…it wasn't your fault, Harm. The Company needed to protect her…not you."

"But she was my partner," his voice cracked.

"I know you feel the need to rescue us all…even if we don't deserve it, and the price is too high," tears ringed her eyes and dropped down her cheeks.

"It's never too high," his voice grew softer, "…I'm glad you're alive."

"Still…"

He leaned forward out of her reach, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Mac, you should head inside…the door off the deck is unlocked."

"Aren't you coming?" she pleaded.

"Later."

"Harm, you're freezing…you need to come…"

"Leave me alone, Mac!" he snarled.

"'kay," her voice was soft and wounded, no longer able to hide the hurt.

As she turned to leave, he spoke in misery, "I'm not very good at relationships, am I?"

"What?" She stopped mid turn.

"Renee said it…" his voice trailed off.

"Why did she say that?" her voice rose with incredulity. The nerve of that stupid woman. Years later, and they were still paying the price for their miscommunication and mistakes related to Mic Brumby and Renee Peterson.

"Because," he shrugged, "…she said, I don't like to let people in."

She rounded the chair, and knelt before him, seeking out his darting eyes. "You listen to me," she cupped his chin, "…Renee didn't know what she was talking about." He tried to pull away, but she didn't relinquish her hold. "Harm, the problem isn't that you don't let people in…it's that you let them in too much. When you care about someone, they become a part of you. They're embedded so deeply in your heart, that you feel every hurt, every pain, every injustice right along with them. _Some people care too much…I think it's called love._"

He looked away from the intensity of her gaze, refusing to acknowledge her words. Her thumb stroked gentle circles over his stubble-roughed cheek.

"You can't save the whole world, Sailor…or you'll eventually lose yourself," her words were gentle and endearing, filled with love, "…and I couldn't bear that."

He pulled away at the utterance of the old nickname, closing out the overwhelming emotions, "I'm not a sailor anymore, Mac."

"Well, I might have something to say about that," she stood up and stretched her legs.

"You in charge now?" he groused to escape the heaviness of the previous moment.

"No," she stared out into the night. The sky was nearly black, and the wind was picking up. "But the Admiral is having second thoughts."

"He figure I already learned my lesson wrestling alligators," he reached for the satisfied comfort of his righteous indignation. It was an emotion with which he had intimate experience of late.

"Harm!" she glared at him in warning.

"What?!" he sat back in his chair and cast her a look that vacillated somewhere between wariness and contempt. She bit her tongue to control the automatic retort, and walked past him to head inside.

"Besides, I'm pretty sure Webb wouldn't be too happy about that," he sneered. So much for comfort, he was headed straight for pain.

That comment froze her in her tracks. She clenched and unclenched her fists, breathing deeply. When she turned back around, there was fire in her eyes. He watched her defiantly march back in his direction, stopping beside his chair, nostrils flaring. And then, a bizarre expression crossed her face. He squinted in concentration trying to discern her mood. Her brow was furrowed, mouth tight, but amusement danced in her eyes. The whole situation unsettled and excited him in a way he couldn't quite place. He didn't know whether to laugh or run for his life.

Just as he was about to decide on the later, she reached out her hand and pinched his left earlobe. He jumped from surprise more than pain, and tried to pull away, but she held tight, leaned forward and peered inside. Her breath came out in tiny warm puffs, as she tried to control her laughter. The flustering sensation tickled his cheek and spread goosebumps down his neck. He shivered as her simple touch sent shockwaves to his heart, and warmth all the way to his toes. And still, she stood and examined.

"Mac!" he batted at her arm. "What're you doing?"

She giggled softly, but didn't utter a word. Her silence unnerved him more, and he fought to pull away. Her fingers stuck like glue.

"I promise I have a brain," he sighed in frustration, "…it's not empty in there."

She just continued to study his ear. A gust of cold wind blew past his face, wafting the scent of her perfume and a wayward strand of her hair to tickle his nose. He reached up to grasp her wrist, encircling it with his fingers. She remained completely unfazed and stared straight ahead.

"If you blow in it, music doesn't come out the other side," his fingers flexed and tightened around her skin. Her hands were cold as ice. So, how was it, they made him feel warm?

With one final caress and a short pull, she relinquished her grasp and stood up, a beautiful smile on her face. He reached up and roughly rubbed his earlobe, all the while glaring at her in disbelief.

"Mind telling me what you were doing?" he grumped.

"Looking for fluff," she shrugged lightheartedly, and her smile grew. Who needed the sun, he thought absently. The unbidden notion served to disconcert him more.

"What?" He frowned at her instead, thinking she'd finally lost her mind.

"Fluff," she giggled and reached down to retrieve her leather satchel. Searching through the tote, she withdrew two objects and extended the first to him. "Here, this is for you."

He eyed the bear suspiciously. She extended it further, "Go ahead…he won't bite."

When he refused to take the stuffed animal, she set it gently in his lap. His fingers stroked over the knobby fur of the golden bear, taking note of areas that were worn and threadbare. He even encountered a roughened spot or two, and some stickiness here and there. The poor thing was even missing an eye.

He looked up at her, eyebrow raised, and regarded her bemused expression. His mouth gaped open and closed, before he found his voice.

"Mac, what's this?" he extended the stuffed animal and gave it a gentle shake to accentuate his point.

"Pooh," she giggled and shrugged, giving nothing a way.

"I can see that," he huffed, "…but why are you giving it to me?" He shook his head in confusion; she was starting to freak him out.

"It's not from me…it's from AJ." She extended a book, "This is from me." He ignored the book and threw her an incredulous look.

"AJ?!" She really was worrying him now. "Why would the Admiral…"

"Not that AJ! Your godson, AJ," she rolled her eyes. He really had been incommunicado for too long.

"Ohhh," he dropped his eyes to the bear, and tapped its snout. Glancing back up in question, "But why?"

"'Cuz, he thought you needed a friend, too." When he furrowed his brow in question, she explained, "AJ gave it to me a few months back. After," her voice dipped along with her head, "…after Paraguay. He knew I was, um…sad," she dug her toe into the planking of the pier. Harm leaned closer to hear her voice over the howling wind.

"AJ and I started spending more time together, after you…" She sighed and hugged the book to her chest, "Anyways, we began reading the Winnie-the-Pooh series. At first, I did it to give Harriet a break, what with the new baby and all, but then…it was just fun to spend time with AJ. Pooh was one of his most prized possessions, kinda like his buddy." Harm glanced down at the stuffed bear and again noted its tattered and threadbare countenance, clearly denoting usage and love. "One night, he gave it to me. He said I needed a friend, and after all," she raised her voice to match little AJ's higher pitch and cadence, "…Pooh says, _'It's so much more friendly with two'_. AJ figured he didn't need Pooh so much anymore, since he had Jimmy…but he thought you and I could use a friend."

When she looked up, her smile had dimmed, and her eyes were suspiciously bright. She once again extended the book, and he took it from her hand. The title read '_The Complete TALES of Winnie-the Pooh_'.

"I thought you might find it interesting," she smiled, "…for a stuffed bear who spends a lot of time bumping on his head, he's pretty wise." He quirked his brow, and a slight smile played on his lips.

"Um, if you wanna know about the 'fluff'," she tapped the marker buried within the book, "…I think you'll find the reference, just about there."

"Ahhh," his eyes twinkled as he nodded his head.

She winked back, "I'm gonna head inside and try to warm up." She shifted the tote onto her shoulder, "You coming along?"

"Not yet," he stared back out to the water, "…in a bit, I just need to think for a while."

"'kay, see ya inside," she reached out and ran her fingers across his neck, burying them in his hair. When he leaned back slightly into her palm, she tugged on the wayward strands hanging over his collar. "You need a haircut…this is hardly regulation, Sailor."

He shrugged, but didn't pull away, "I'm not in the Navy anymore, Marine."

"We'll see about that," she whispered and traced her fingertips over his ear and onto to his stubbled cheek, "…could use a shave too."

He shrugged again, "Same answer."

Continuing to caress his cheek, she leaned over and kissed the crown of his head. "See ya in the morning, flyboy," she nuzzled her cheek against the soft strands for a moment, before heading inside.

His eyes never left the water to acknowledge her departure, but his palm rose to cup the skin of his cheek, trying to retain her warmth.

He sat there staring at the twinkling night sky for almost an hour, lost in thought, in regrets…in what ifs. By the time he stood to head back inside, his hands and feet were numb from the cold. He clutched the stuffed bear and the prized book to his chest for fear of dropping them into the water, as he made his way along the pier. His knees creaked and groaned with stiffness as he climbed the stairs to the deck. And when he stepped inside the quiet house, his eyes flickered around the great room hoping to find her still up. Much to his dismay, she was nowhere to be found, but there was a blazing fire in the fireplace, no doubt intended to warm his chilled bones, and maybe if he was lucky his soul. A note rested on the end table beside the couch, alerting him to the fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, and a veggie sandwich and pasta salad in the fridge.

Opting only for coffee, in need of the physical warmth, he disregarded the sandwich and salad. His appetite seemed to be the perpetual victim of life's recent events. He settled into the sofa, wrapping himself in the chenille throw, and eyed the proffered book with suspicion. His fingers skimmed over the smooth jacket, flipped the hardback cover open and closed, and fanned through the pages. Finally, he tucked the stuffed Pooh bear into the crook of his arm and began to read the tale. Tempted to check the dog-eared pages first, he forced himself to start at the beginning.

'_Here is EDWARD BEAR, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps…'_

It was midnight by the time he came to the purported phrase, and he laughed aloud as he read it the third time through. _'__If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.'_

Setting the book aside for the night, he wiped his bleary eyes and huddled deeper into the warmth of the blanket. The fire had long since died out, and the room held a definite chill. Resting his head against the back of the couch, he contemplated sleep, and whether it would prove elusive again tonight, in deference to the demons of his dreams. Twisting his body sideways, he reclined against the armrest and attempted to get comfortable. The waistband of his jeans tugged and pulled, and his bulky sweater bunched in all the wrong places. Sighing in annoyance, he rolled off the couch and started toward the bedroom in search of his sweats. He paused at the entrance to the master suite, remembering he'd given the room to Mac.

The door was only partially closed allowing him to peek his head inside. The room was nearly dark, save for the moonlight streaming through the rear windows. Apparently, she'd forgotten to close the shutters when turning in for the night. He listened closely for sounds of stirring, but detected only her light even breathing. He pushed the heavy door aside, and cringed when the hinges creaked in protest. Pausing briefly to scan the bed, he crept on inside. He crossed to the dresser and carefully opened the drawer retrieving his sleep clothes, and quickly changed in the bath. As he turned to exit the room, he froze spellbound at the captivating sight.

She was asleep on her side; moonlight illuminating her lovely features. Tresses of darkened silk spilled over the pillowcase, crowning her head. The blanket slipped down around her waist, left she huddled and shivering in the cold. He tiptoed to the bedside, and reached for the covers, pulling them up higher. His hand caught on something fuzzy and soft wrapped around her arm. He gently tugged on the mysterious object clutched about her hand, and withdrew his plaid flannel shirt. He remembered discarding the garment on the chair earlier that morning. Her hands moved and searched in her sleep, seeking out and locating the soft flannel. She cradled the shirt to her chest, rubbing the collar against her cheek, before settling in quietness once more.

His heart bloomed with contentment for the first time in months, finding comfort and hope in that one simple gesture. He drew the blanket up to her shoulders, then pulled the down comforter up from the foot of the bed. Tucking her in warm and tight, he ran his fingers through her hair, and gently caressed her cheek. He studied her in the moonbeams, and for the first time, noticed the hollowness of her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and the thinning of her face. It seemed she too survived in the shadows of nightmares. He silently leaned forward, arching over her prostrate form, to place a lingering kiss atop her brow. Burying his nose in the hair of her temple, he inhaled deeply and reveled in the long missed, but nary forgotten scent that played a staring role in his dreams.

Stepping away from the bed, he tripped over an errant pillow fallen upon the floor. Lifting the object, he started to cast it aside, when an idea kindled and caught fire burning bright. His smile curled in and grew with impish delight. He scurried from the bedroom in search of the requisite tools. Once gathered, he returned to the master suite to implement his clandestine plan.

Twenty minutes later, his eyes sparkled with approval, and he grinned in unbridled glee. Yes, he decided, this was just what was needed to bridge their lingering divide. Task complete, he backed away, settling into the corner armchair to watch over her sleep. Despite a well-fought battle, his eyes soon drifted shut. And the nightmares never came.

xxxxx

_Continued in Part 1b_


	2. Chapter 1b

**Part 1b**

xxxxx

She awakened to the brilliance of sunshine streaming through the glass. Squinting in the glare, her eyes slowly accustomed to the early morning dawn, and she snuggled into the warmth provided by the many layers of covers. She studied the scenic view of the lake just beyond the windowpanes, and once again marveled at its breathtaking beauty. After the turmoil of the last several months, it felt strange to awaken to such peacefulness, renewed and excited about the promises of a new day. Stretching languorously into the plush depths of the featherbed, she vowed to pursue all the promises and possibilities, and burrowed even deeper into the covers.

Just as she started to lazily drift off, something white and fluffy caught her eye. Perplexed, she pushed up from the pillows and stared wide-eyed at the downy chaos strewn across her bed. Lifting a piece of the cottony fluff aloft for further inspection, she twirled it between her fingers, then shrieked in horror. She frantically scanned the expanse of the room. Searching…seeking…hunting. Sighing, she collapsed in relief, as her eyes finally fell upon the beloved target of her quest. He was positioned playfully on the edge of the pillow, nestled and waiting patiently beside her head, asking only to be noticed. Clutched in his paws was a folded note card with her name scribbled in flowing cursive across the front. She confiscated the note from his grasp, and settled Winnie into her lap. Opening the card, she giggled for the first time in ages, as she lightheartedly read aloud:

_My Dear Marine,_

_Relax, neither beast nor Pooh bear have been harmed in my quest for discovering the truth. Though, I cannot say the same for my mother's pillow. Suffice it to say, I have been successfully de-fluffed, de-waxed, and de-cleaned, and am now ready to pay heed to anything and everything you wish to share._

_--Yours forever or as close as possible, Harm_

She fell back into the mountainous heap of pillows and laughed with unbridled joy. The day was truly shaping up to be unexpectedly spectacular.

xxx

An hour later, he bounded through the cabin door; cheeks red and rosy, sweat pouring down his face. He was wheezing for air, but all things considered, the eight-mile run had been wonderfully invigorating. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed running in the wilderness during the autumn season. Though, the altitude and his forced exile from the sport had tested his endurance, he had persevered in his renewed commitment to running marathons. It might have only been eight miles, but you have to start somewhere he mused.

He stripped the drenched sweatshirt over his head, and toed off his running shoes by the door. Wiping his face on the soft fleece, he tossed it over his shoulder and headed off in search of a shower. Midway to his destination, his nose caught scent of the most tantalizing aroma, and he veered off course, curiosity winning out. He strolled into the kitchen to discover Mac flipping pancakes over a cast-iron skillet. A smudge of flour colored her chin.

"Ah, what'cha doing, Mac?" his bemused smile lit up the room.

"Making breakfast," she proudly beamed back.

His eyes scanned the ingredients scattered across the counter. "You found all this in my kitchen?"

"Nope," she slid a couple of pancakes onto a pie tin and slipped them into the oven.

He leaned against the doorjamb; arms crossed on his chest, and casually hooked one foot over the other. He looked relaxed and at ease, as he watched her flit about his kitchen, taking extreme pleasure in the idea of her cooking breakfast just for him. He marveled at how effortlessly she had wormed her way past the walls his heart, yet again, and pondered with dread how he would survive if she chose to walk away. Shaking away his unsettling thoughts, he emerged back into the present.

"Borrowed the ingredients from the neighbors?" he decided he could play the question game too.

"You don't have any neighbors," she laughed.

"That's not true…there's probably a bear or two out there," he teased.

"Nope, I already checked…he's on the table waiting for breakfast," she nodded toward the stuffed teddy bear sitting patiently in the sun.

He wandered over to the table, and flicked Winnie's ears, "You gonna tell me what we're having, or did Pooh make a special request?"

"Gingerbread pancakes with lemon sauce," she quirked a brow and waited for his sarcastic retort.

"Wow," he released an impressed whistle in a low tune, "…when did you learn to cook?"

"Always could," she shrugged and proceeded to pour more batter into the pan, "…but seldom needed to with you around." She peered up through her lashes, "After you left," her eyes jumped away from his, "…I needed to find my way around the kitchen again."

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, "So, ah…where'd you say you found the ingredients? I'm pretty sure there wasn't any molasses in my cupboards."

"Did some grocery shopping on the way up," she flipped the next set of pancakes up in the air. "I figured you could use a good meal or two, while I was here. If you're like me, you haven't been eating much of late."

His eyes misted over at her obvious concern. Blinking back the tears, he cleared his throat, and pointed toward the bedroom, "Do I, ah… have time to hit the shower?"

"Sure, I'll keep'em warm in the oven," her eyes followed him as he headed away from the kitchen, "…just don't take long. Think MARINE shower not NAVY!" she yelled after him, chuckling at her own joke.

When she returned her attention to the task at hand, he circled back, leaned in close and kissed the top of her head. "Thanks Mac," he whispered and quickly scurried from the room.

One of those tight places in her chest, the one that choked her heart, loosened another notch. And she hummed along with the chickadees, as they sang their morning song.

xxx

They spent the afternoon together. Packed a picnic lunch and an armload of blankets, before heading out on the boat. The sun was warm, and the fall breeze nippy, as they steered the vessel along the inlet to the larger lake beyond.

During the mundane tasks of fishing…baiting hooks, casting lines, interminable waits…they swapped stories, rehashed childhood adventures, and embellished college-day pranks. Finally, as the sun dipped toward the west, they cautiously broached the subject of more recent days…unclassified missions, perplexing cases, updates on colleagues and friends. They purposefully tiptoed about, skipped around, leaped over, and skillfully dodged all reminiscence linked their South American trip. Neither quite brave enough nor foolhardy to pick at the unhealed scabs of that snake-infested bottomless pit.

As dusk drew nigh, he deftly steered the boat back into its mooring with the practiced-ease of one trained in maritime acts. And as they unloaded the fishing gear, blankets and picnic supplies, their hearts buckled under the weight of the baggage that remained unspoken, unquestioned and misunderstood. Too afraid to inquire after the answer their hearts both coveted and feared the most, they remained shrouded in paralyzing silence. He sulked away despondent to clean fish and prepare the grill, while she chopped at veggies trying to cut away the hidden meanings and mishandled words. Dinner was served in silence, and dessert in hushed tones. And as the evening wore on, the amassed burden of the unsaid words threatened to topple the tenuously reconstructed bridge linking the two adrift souls.

As she dried the last of the dishes, he slinked off muttering something about air. One final swipe of the counter banished her too, deep into her thoughts and the solitude of bed. But even buried under the mountainous security of blankets and bathed in the warmth of the moon, she couldn't halt the quivering trembles or silence the shaking voice…that soulfully insistent little echo starved and frozen near to death at the center of her core. The one that only flamed to life when communed in oneness with him.

Inevitably and unfailingly, she found her way back to him. Hot chocolate in hand, down comforter wrapped around tight, she stood before him on the deck…eyes silently beseeching her case. She handed him first one piping hot mug then the other. Sitting beside him, in the rocking chair to the right, she untwisted the duvet and gently shook it aloft, allowing the downy warmth of it to settle over them both. And with the contented sigh exhaled from a soul finally home, she reached for the ceramic mug mounded in marshmallow foam.

They sat in relaxed silence watching stars burst overhead, and she marveled at the perfect tranquility of this moment in time. How the mere proximity of him hushed the reproving shrill voices and stilled her quivering fears.

When he released a sigh from somewhere deep inside, she decided to cautiously broach a perilous question. "Harm?"

"Mmmm?" his voice was soft and easy.

"About the Admiral's offer," she set her empty mug off to the side and reached for his.

"What offer?" he bristled.

"Coming back to JAG…"

"Mac, I don't think…" he shifted restlessly, as he cut off her comment.

"Just hear me out," she rested her hand against his arm, "…we're so overwhelmed with, ah…or um…" she stumbled over the words at his incensed glare.

"That's why…."

"No! No, I mean…of course not! We…we want you back…we NEED you back…your expertise, your…"

"I should've known that you had only come…" his voice trailed off, and eyes flicked away to hide the intense disappointment.

Her response was immediate and heartfelt, "That's not why I came! I hadn't seen or heard from you in months, and I wanted to make sure you were okay…especially after Beth. But, first and foremost, I came as a friend, because I care."

He shrugged noncommittally and continued staring straight ahead. An uncomfortable silence settled in.

After a few moments, she tried again. "Harm, we are overloaded, and indeed, do need your help…but more than that, we need you back…'want' you back. If all we needed was help, we could request additional personnel…more lawyers, ancillary staff. But that's not what we need; we need you. JAG…it's just not the same without you."

He glanced back her way, expression masked. "So, what's going on that has everyone so flustered?"

"You won't believe it," she flashed him a tentative grin. "Carolyn Imes? Turns out she's not a lawyer."

"I could've told you that!" He snorted a riotous grunt.

"Harm, I'm serious…she never passed the Michigan Bar," she shook her head at his incredulous look. "All the cases she prosecuted and won are being reviewed. It's a huge burden of work, on top of our already ridiculous caseload."

"Ah, so that's way Chegwidden decided to '_invite'_ me back. He's short an attorney, and the Sec Nav is breathing down is neck for the Imes' debacle," he snorted in disgust. "I don't know, Mac. After all, who's to say I won't ride off half-cocked on some flight of fancy ruled by my emotions again?" He shook his head in derision.

She held her tongue a moment to let his emotions calm. When he peered sideways in her direction, she looked down and studied her lap. "You're right, Harm," her voice was quiet and introspective, "…what the Admiral said that day in his office," she gritted her teeth, "…it still frosts me. You saved my life, rescued Webb, destroyed the Stinger missiles and a terrorist plot…and all he could see was…"

"It's okay, Mac," his voice came out soft and soothing, "…I accomplished my primary goal…you came home safe. The rest of it," he waved his hand dismissively, "…it was important too, but that's not why I went." He looked away again, "I just didn't expect to lose it all in the end."

"I know," her hushed words were swallowed up by the wind, "…me either."

He squinted his eyes, hoping to bury the overwhelming sadness, and inhaled deeply. "So, Chegwidden wants me back in the Navy…at JAG…under him? What's he plan to strip me? You know, teaching me a lesson and all?" He shrugged, bravado rapidly waning.

"No cuts, no payback, no retribution…you come back just like you left, Sailor."

"Flight status?"

"Intact," she paused, a subtle smile playing at her lips, "…flyboy."

He nodded, "So, AJ wants me back, Bud and Harriet…Sturgis?" She nodded in the affirmative. He glanced away, before his eyes settled back to hers, soft and gentle, searching. "What about you, Mac? Do you want me back?"

Staring into the wide expanse of the evening sky, she wondered why she always had to go first, laying out her battered heart on display for yet another round of rejection and pain. A falling star burned bright then streaked across the inky blackness of the night, and in that moment she just knew. Tears formed in her eyes blurring her vision, but she steeled her nerves and called upon her waning courage. Taking a deep breath, she slipped her hand under the blanket and unerringly sought out his. Fingers curling around his roughened skin, she whispered back, "Especially me, Sailor…especially me."

His fingers flexed around hers, holding firm. Her head fell against his arm, and his stubbled cheek brushed in the perfumed softness of her hair. The wind rustled around them in cool darkness, and the waves lapped the shore, as the crickets strummed the soft enchanting melody of a soothing nighttime song.

He caught the tail of a falling star and remembered a childhood verse. A little boy, he urgently prayed, another place, another time. "_Star light, star bright…The first star I see tonight…I wish I may, I wish I might…Have this wish I wish tonight._" Eyes closed, he silently implored the twinkling stars above to grant just this…his only wish…his heart's truest joy.

As the moments turned to minutes, and the minutes to near an hour, he felt her body slump more heavily against his arm. Gingerly peering downward, he regarded her relaxed features, closed eyes and gentle breathing, and realized she'd fallen asleep. He studied her closely in the soft glow of the moon and marveled, not for the first time, at the incredible beauty that shined through from her soul.

Finally, as the temperature dropped to near freezing, he deftly stood from the chair, all the while supporting her weight. Reverently, he lifted her into his arms and settled her upon his chest. Creeping toward the patio door, she began to stir, but a few whispered words and a "go back to sleep" proved the magical command. As he shifted her in his arms, wrapping the comforter around tighter, he was once again taken aback by her light burden and willowy form. The last months had obviously worn heavily upon her, just as they had him. He berated himself for his stubbornness, the lack of communication and heedless neglect of her care.

He gently laid her upon the bed, removing the slippers and robe. Pulling the bedding up to her chin, he tucked it in place and quietly knelt beside her. He stroked his fingers through her hair, watching her sleep, and contemplated what possibly was and just maybe could still be.

He lovingly kissed her cheek, whispering to the moon. "_I wish I may, I wish I might…Have this wish I wish tonight_…"

xxx

The next morning she found him at daybreak perched upon a stone ledge. The sun had barely crested the horizon, and the morning winds howled wild and cold through the vibrant colored trees. She clutched her quilted jacket tighter, staving off the chill, as she picked her way toward him along the narrow path. Arriving at his side, she leaned over the split-cedar railing, and watched a gentle stream meander on its course. The water tripped along the pebbled bottom, wound around boulders and rocks, before spilling out in a cascading waterfall to the pool below.

She sidled closer to his side, but his eyes never veered from the flowing water. Wind ruffled and mused through his hair. The sunlight danced in his eyes, and kissed his cheeks to a cherry-red glow. Finally, she wiggled closer still, and interlinked their arms. He startled to the unperceived intrusion, but instantly graced her with a warm and welcoming smile

"Hey," his voice came out hoarse and quiet.

"Morning," she whispered back in a similar reverenced tone. She inhaled the clean mountain air, and exhaled on a slow easy sigh. Her breathing finally hitched at the end, as she squirmed in nervousness.

When he furrowed his brow in question, she diverted her eyes from his inquiring gaze. "I have to leave today," she grumbled with overbearing regret.

"I know," his monotone response echoed resigned disappointment.

His eyes retuned to the flow of the river, as he mapped out each subtle eddy and current. The easy sounds of nature reverberated and danced around them in a pleasant hymn of mirth.

She maneuvered even closer seeking out his warmth. His extended arm obliged her, and she ducked beneath, snuggling into his side.

"What'cha doing?" she asked when the silence became unbearable.

"Watching the stream," he leaned over the wooden railing, gesturing with his head.

"I can see that," she chuckled lightly, "…why?"

"Well, according to Pooh, who I have on the best authority, is quite brilliant," he winked and flashed a teasing smile. "I_f you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known."_

"Oh," her eyes danced with amusement, "…so, it's wisdom you seek?"

"Kind of, but not exactly," his gaze drifted back to the water, and his expression grew serious and circumspect. "It's more like, umm…I'm wondering about the course of my future. How my life's events will play out." He waved a hand across the rambling water, "I thought I'd give Pooh's philosophy a try, and see what the river foretells."

She leaned over the railing hoping to glean an understanding of him. He pointed toward the middle of the stream just a few feet beyond. She watched the river gently trip and flow along the stone covered bed. It shimmered and sparkled, catching the sun, reflecting the brilliance back. Peace was her unbidden thought, as her eyes followed the water's course further still. She watched the rippled calm of the surface wind around a bend, slow down, speed up and curve back again.

She glanced back at him and studied his face, perplexed by his unyielding interest. He merely blushed a soft smile, pointed straight ahead, and whispered his command, "Watch."

She returned to her careful observation displaying a rapt seriousness commensurate with his own. The water's current suddenly roughened and churned, as it rose to impact a huge boulder positioned in its path. The imposing rock lurched far above the current's surface in the middle of the stream. The water, unable to swerve off course, crashed upon the boulder, and veered up in a rolling wave, before dividing into two separate eddies. Seemingly wild and aimless, the two eddies continued on in an independent and separate course, winding round the boulder both left and right, skirting a sand dune, dropping over a rocky ledge into a cascading waterfall, before finally merging in the bubbling shallow pool below. Undeterred in its course, the stream continued on. Gentled and slowed, the independent eddies once again coalesced into a single flowing stream, drifting harmoniously as one, a united solitary being.

He stepped back, regarded her expression of dazed amazement, and awaited her response. She remained motionless and stunned, overcome by the simplicity of nature's answer to the mystery that had plagued them for years. Gently grasping her shoulders, he turned her away from the lesson found in a meandering stream, and begged an answer to the question of their future with the depths of his eyes.

"Mac?" his voice was hushed and pleading, as hope warred with fear.

When her eyes remained downward cast, he traced a finger over the angle of her chin, lifting her face to his view. Her eyes darted away, first left then right, before settling into his.

"Sarah," she shuddered at the utterance of her given name whispered like a prayer, "…before I can give the Admiral an answer about my desire to return to the Navy, I need to know what you want."

"Haaarm," his name was stuttered in nervous apprehension, "…I…why…" She trailed off as fear won out, and immediately sensed him withdrawing from her, both body and spirit.

"No!" She urgently clasped his arm stopping his retreat, "…this can't be just about me!"

"It's not," he fought to summon his courage, "…but before I can decide, I need to know, if you think…_'you and I_' will ever be '_we_'?"

Eyes clenched tightly, she tried to transcribe the meaning of the Harmonesque cryptic words. Scrubbing his face in frustration, he wondered why eloquence always abandoned him when it came to her.

"Ah, let me try that again," he flashed a heartfelt, but disarming smile. "The answer to the question of _'us'," _he wiggled a finger back and forth in the space between them, "…will affect my decision on how or whether we work together. Does that make sense?" he shrugged his shoulders to his ears with befuddled boyish charm.

"Okaaay," she drug the word out, then ducked her face in embarrassment and tried again.

"What if," her thumbs grazed his forearms in a soft soothing caressing, "…I could assure you, the Admiral will work it out, no matter what we decide?" She gazed into his eyes unwaveringly, trying to transmit the true intent of her words, both spoken and implied. Fleetingly, she wondered when they both became such cowards.

"Okay," he nodded, surmising a quarter step forward, zero back was a tiny bit of progress, "…but that still doesn't tell me what you want."

She withered in hopelessness under the interminable stalemate that defined their dance. Neither one was brave enough to state their intentions first…two step forward, one step back. His fingers trailed up the length of her arms, drawing her in closer, lending strength and support.

"Mac, you uttered the one word that proclaimed an end to us…to any hope of what we could be. I need to know, if you still believe…"

She pulled away from him, tears cascading down her cheeks. "I already told you…_ I used to believe in forever . . . but forever was too good to be true._ I only chose never because I thought forever didn't exist. And I couldn't live with the disappointment of 'not yet' anymore."

"What if," the words burst forth in a blazing rush, as the offer flowed easily from his tongue. This art of legal negotiation they both knew well. The images of a prior deal flitted through his mind.

"What if?" her eyes followed his, waiting for his terms, daring to hope.

"What if, I could promise you…forever and a day?" Arms crossed on his chest, he dared her to demur.

"I'll accept your forever and a day, and offer you…eternity," she countered with her best lawyer voice. He squinted an eye and gazed heavenward, considering her last option.

"Deal," he nodded in the affirmative, and confirmed it with a wink.

"Don't make a promise you can't keep." The corners of her mouth turned up in a teasing smile, but the seriousness of her voice betrayed her attempts at levity…just as it had all those years before. This time, there was no room for wiggling, backtracking or walking away.

"I haven't yet," he hitched a brow and flashed his cockiest grin, perfectly reconstructing the mood. His eyes however shone suspiciously bright, thoroughly giving him away.

Extending an open palm to mimic their former deal, he waited for her response. She shook her head at the absurdity of it all…sealing their 'forever deal' with a handshake. If anything deserved something more intimate and personal, surely the promise of 'forever' qualified. Nonetheless, she followed his lead and extended her palm.

He grasped her hand securely in his, the eternal spark burned bright. Gaze transfixed, eyes melted into eyes, and the love shone through. Stroking his thumb across the softness of her wrist, he lifted her hand to his lips. Her eyes never left his, surrendering to the magnitude of the emotion reflected there. He raised her hand aloft, and giving a gentle twirl, sent her dancing away. As her eyes widened in shock, he threw his head back and cackled with ecstatic glee. Spinning her once more around, he gathered her in close, snug in the circle of his arms. Agilely, he waltzed her along the uneven stones lining the narrow path, until they stepped unrestrained to the wide expanse of the grass.

He pulled her close, body-to-body, chest-to-chest, hearts perfectly aligned, and swayed them in the morning breeze to the soft serenade of fluttering leaves. Leaning in closer still, his breath tickled her ear. She nuzzled her face in the warm skin of his neck, and inhaled his wonderful scent. Water, air, strength, he smelled of all of these, but it was the love that was her favorite. She would forever remember the scent of this day. The everlasting fragrance of them, a love nearly abandoned and dead, now reborn for all time.

He spun her away from his body, and twirled her in the wind. She moved with grace and beauty, stealing his breath away. And when he finally found his words, they bubbled forth in joy.

"_Twirl around Piglet_," he laughed in the breeze.

"_Step lightly Pooh_," she giggled back, and willingly returned to his pull.

"_This silly ol' dance is perfect for two_," they both sang out the final phrase to the childhood verse. Together…in perfect unison.

His lips finally found hers in an all-consuming, exploring caress. Whispered 'I love you's' filled the autumn air, fluttering amongst the vibrant leaves, gaining breadth and beauty from their brilliant colors, before taking wing on the wind and spreading over the horizon.

As he pulled away for a gasping breath, a momentary thought skittered through his hapless mind…AJ Roberts was due a very special gift of thanks. A lazy afternoon in the park cavorting with his grateful godparents, perhaps, the idea sparked to life, then flitted away into depths of oblivion, as he lost himself in his Sarah once more.

The second thought to give birth, before his love-addled mind quit functioning all together, was that Winnie-the Pooh was a wonderful theme for a nursery. The image of a beautiful dancing baby girl, with rosy cheeks and laughing brown eyes, twirled to the forefront with Piglet and Pooh.

'_Twirl around Piglet,_

_Step lightly Pooh,_

_This silly ol' dance is perfect for two.'_

xxx

'_If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you.'_ -- Winnie-the-Pooh.

xxxxxxxxxx XXXXX xxxxxxxxxx

_**AN:**__ I hope you enjoyed my indulgence in all things Pooh. I've had theses 'Poohisms' sitting in a folder on my computer for quite some time now. They've been 'bugging the bageebers outta me' to break loose, for a while. At one point, Pooh even threatened to send in the bees. I finally had to give-in and find a forum for their wizened-fun in my writing of Harm and Mac. Isn't it amazing how simple things from our childhood are actually quite profound? Who knew Winnie-the-Pooh, Christopher Robin and the rest of the gang at Pooh Corner were philosophers?_

_Anyways, surely I'm not the only one who thought the introduction to the first book in the Pooh series was very enlightening, in regards to the whole 'Harm and Mac' relationship 'thing'? Maybe if TPTB had spent a little time reading 'Winnie-the-Pooh', the 'dance' would've changed from the Foxtrot to the Tango a whole lot sooner. I reiterate the beginning excerpt to prove my point:_

'_Here is EDWARD BEAR, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin__**. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it.**__'_

_What do you say guys? To much 'bumping' of the wrong kind?????_

_Sorry this story was so tardy, but real life has been crazy and more than a bit unsettling of late. Exhaustion has been the order of the day more often than not. THANKS for reading!!!_


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